


Not What It Seems

by StarvingMe



Series: Inqed Words [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/F, I'm sorrynotsorry, Sad, unhappy things ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingMe/pseuds/StarvingMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle to save the Inquisitor comes to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those following me on Tumblr, I condensed some of these into a single post, just so it's a little less to post...

Wordsmith slunk into the Archives, keeping her head down. The sooner she got to work, the sooner the day would be over and she could get back. Chewing the inside of her lip, she frowned down at her cup of coffee, armful of books to be filed. She didn't like the idea of returning to work and trying to pretend everything was normal, because they weren't, and the King was bound to make an appearance, but what choice did she have?

“ _I don't like him,” she'd told the Inquisitor that morning before she left for work. “There's just something about this that doesn't sound right...”_

“ _It's okay,” she'd said, smiling gently, “I'll be fine. Galahad's a friend—I remember that much at least...”_

_Frowning at that, Wordsmith had glanced away, looking at the hotel room again as she debated staying. She must've taken too long to agree, because when she looked at her friend again, she saw the uneasiness in those blue eyes. “What is it, Wordsmith?”_

“ _I just...” she started to say, trailing off before running a hand through her hair. It was just a silly thought, just something that was nagging at her—no, she shouldn't say anything, really... And yet... “Isn't it weird? I mean... You don't remember Heaven at all, and you've forgotten all the other angels, and you're even forgetting the important things about being_ you _, things you've known forever... And yet... you remember_ him _?”_

 _Blue eyes widened at that, almost as though the thought hadn't occurred to her before. The color she'd just regained bled out of her face, leaving her white as a sheet. “I... I just... but... he's a friend... I mean... it's normal to remember friends...” Her eyebrows drew close together as she tried to think about it, pain flashing across her face as she winced. “He's... a friend... right?” she breathed, trying to push through the fog of memories that were just_ gone _._

_Frowning, Wordsmith reached out to gently touch her shoulder, pulling her back to the present before she said gently, “Just.... Come back with me to the flat, okay? We'll put up devil's traps and wards...”_

_She debated it for a moment before smiling just a little at her friend, trying to look as reassuring as possible. “I'll be fine, Wordsmith... You need to get going—the King will notice if you don't show up at least for a while... I'll... I'll be fine.”_

_Sighing, she pulled out the small burner phone that she had kept, tucking it into her hands as she said, “The moment you get into trouble... you call for me, okay?”_

She set the books down on the side-table, sipping her coffee as she turned everything over in her mind. There was something about Galahad that she just couldn't put her finger on—something about the angel was particularly unsettling. “He's hiding something,” she murmured to herself before she sensed a presence behind her.

She started to turn, wondering if Guthrie was already there for her, when a low voice drawled, “Well, little mouse... It seems like you don't learn your lesson terribly well...”

She tensed for several moments, eyes flashing wide as she realized she didn't have anywhere she could run or hide. She knew she was going to have to face the King at some point, but she'd kind of hoped it would've at least been after all of this had blown over, at least until after she'd managed to get her friend's grace back... Flinching a little, she finished turning, finding the King sitting quite comfortably in one of the chairs, elbows on the armrests and fingertips steepled as he fixed her with a dark look. Before she could even start to offer an explanation, he said, “Save it. I saw how cozy the little bird had made her next last night... Did you really think you were hiding it all that well? And you know that a large portion of the heavenly host is looking for that _particular_ bird, right?”

“I...” she started to say before stopping herself. There were a thousand reasons she could give for helping her, but as she looked at the king, she realized he wouldn't accept or buy into them. She steeled herself as best she could, bracing herself to turn tail and run—she could just teleport away if she moved fast enough... “I couldn't let them get her... And she asked me for help.”

He scoffed at that, sitting up in his chair as he watched her, narrowing his eyes. “She just... _asked._ And you decided to just... _help_.”

“A debt is a debt,” she said plainly, frowning at that. “ _I_ asked, and _she_ helped. So when _she_ asked... _I_ helped.”

“Well, I would say you went a little above and beyond, wouldn't you say, mouse?”

Frowning at that, she took a slow breath, feeling her cheeks redden a little. “Well... Better to do the job all the way rather than half-ass it...” she said, eyes falling to her feet. Should she run? No, she needed to stay, needed to face this... but _damn_ , the Angel was still going to be in trouble if she died now... “And it's better to be _owed_ than to _owe..._ Right?”

A long silence stretched between them before she heard the chair creak just slightly as the King rose, crossing the room. “Perhaps,” he said, watching her closely. “Come... There's something I need to show you.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Inquisitor.” Galahad's voice made her jump as she uncurled from the bed, blue eyes finding him standing in the doorway of the hotel room. Smiling just a little, she started to get up, smoothing her skirt as she rose from the mattress. His green eyes followed her as she ran a hand through her hair, the loose waves tumbling over her shoulders. Frowning, he reached out to her, scanning her face for a moment. “Were... you crying?” he asked, watching as her cheeks turned red, hands instinctively trying to brush away any stray tears. “You _were_ crying... Why?”

“I, I just...” she murmured, swallowing heavily. She couldn't tell him that she was afraid—that she was worried that their plan wasn't enough, that something was going to happen to Wordsmith, that maybe Galahad wasn't all he seemed... Swallowing heavily, she looked away in what she hoped would look like embarrassment. “I just... My beautiful wings... They're still... broken and twisted...” Offering him what little of a smile she could manage, she added, “But... they're _my_ wings, and... I'm glad to have them back, even just this little bit...”

He searched her face again, nodding a little after a moment before he held out his hand to her, offering the plastic bag that dangled there. “Here, I brought you something... We're going to meet up with some of your supporters—they think they have a plan to get you into Heaven.”

Blue eyes brightened at that as she looked up at Galahad, a real smile crossing her lips at that. “R-really?” she asked, tears burning her eyes again. “Do... do you think they can really do it?”

“Of course,” he said, placing the bag in her hand. “Now get changed—we need to hurry if we're going to make it there in time...”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I don't know about this, Galahad,” she said, standing in the foyer of the building. He'd flown them there, and it had been over before she'd even realized what was going on. Her elation at their mode of transport faded quickly when she realized she didn't know where they were. Stranger yet were the clothes he'd chosen for her. The skirt was longer than what she normally wore and layered, the soft fabric glittering in the soft light from the globes that hung from the ceiling. The bodice had been a tighter fit than she was used to, and the low neckline had felt strange to her. What felt the weirdest was the open back, leaving the deepest of her scars exposed as she shifted uneasily in her low heels. Everything felt strange and just _wrong_ , this wasn't her clothes, this didn't protect her from anything, but one look from Galahad silenced her arguments as he took her hand. Everything in her started screaming as soon as he did, telling her to take her hand back, to dial Wordsmith on the phone she tucked into her pocket, to turn and run back out into the night, screaming for help.

 _I'll be exposed_ , the small voice told her in the back of her head, making her still for a moment. _I can protest... But if I refuse his help right now, I will be helpless, and I don't know where I am—I might be a thousand miles from Wordsmith's flat... I don't even know where Wordsmith's flat actually is... It was like, on the corner of... something and somewhere..._ Frowning at her own lack of memory, she decided to follow Galahad quietly, her other hand falling to the phone in her pocket. She would just go along with it, and the moment things got dicey, she would call...

“Sh-shouldn't I, you know... h-have a blade or something?” she asked as they passed some people—there was a reception, or something, a lot of people with strange looks and wearing suits and formal evening wear. “Just for safety purposes...?”

“It's all right, Inquisitor,” Galahad said, still leading her through the crowd, past parlors and side rooms, back to a large ballroom. For a moment. She thought they were going to go around, but no, he simply held her hand a little tighter and pulled her into the thick of it. They barely managed to squeeze through the throng, the Inquisitor tripping more than once on her feet as she tried to avoid brushing people. Once they reached the center of the room, Galahad finally stopped, turning to her as he murmured, “All right... I need you to remain here... _Exactly_ here,” he added, his green eyes intense as confusion flickered across her face. “It's important that you stay here and wait for me to return... I'll bring the others...”

“Here?” she asked, glancing around at everyone. They stood in the middle of a sea of black and white, her dress the only color among them as she frowned. “But... There are so many people...”

“Yes,” he said firmly, “all the more to hide you in... There is safety in numbers, and that's what these are, Inquisitor... Numbers. Humans to help hide you from the Angels...”

“But... what if there are demons here too?” she asked, looking up at him. “I need a weapon to defend myself...”

“I would know if there were demons,” he said, giving a slight smile. “You'll just have to trust me. There are no demons present.”

Looking up into his eyes, a shiver snaked down her exposed back, and the hair on the back of her neck rose up. For an instant, she could see into those eyes and past his facade. What she saw there threatened to overtake her, all of her senses screaming at her legs to turn and carry her as far from this place as she could get. There was darkness in those eyes, and a coldness that reached out and threatened to touch her...

All that came out of her mouth, though, was a soft, “All right... Be careful, Galahad.”

He nodded to her, releasing her hand as he said, “Remember. Stay. Here.” Once she nodded her understanding, he turned to slip back through the crowd. Despite how tall he was, she quickly lost sight of him. A rush of panic surged through her, and she had to force herself to stay put as she chewed on her lip. It was only going to be for a few minutes... Just a little while... He would bring out the others and they would talk...

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice called, the entire room falling silent as the angel tensed again. _Run!_ _Run away, damn it!_ she wanted to scream at her legs, fear welling up in her chest. _Run, or he'll get me..._ “It seems you're still flapping about, little bird...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dance with the devil and desperately trying to rescue the Inquisitor.

Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.  
John Gay 

 

“Um…” Wordsmith said as she followed the King through the throng of demons. Most of them bow or nod to the King as they pass, only to either stare at or ignore her completely. She couldn’t help frowning as she looked around, shaking her head a little. Something felt… off about this place. There was something here… “Where are we?”

“Just a little gathering that I called,” Crowley said as they reached the bar, motioning to the seat next to him as the bartender placed a glass in front of him. Taking the drink, he downed the amber liquid quickly before setting it down for more, a slow smile crawling onto his face as Wordsmith hesitantly sat next to him. She shook her head when the bartender asked her, no, her hands were shaking enough—she really didn’t need to add alcohol to the mix. “Notice anything… unusual?” the King asked, motioning around the room.

Red eyes spanned the crowd as she tried to put her finger on it. “Lots of suits,” she said softly, frowning. “Lots of demons… Mostly Crossroads…” She frowned as she recognized a couple of them, all fiercely loyal (or as loyal as a gathering of demons might get) to the King. “A couple of reapers…” she said, which was odd, but they seemed to be keeping to themselves off in the corner. She was about to give in and confess that nothing seemed particularly remarkable about the gathering when she caught a flash of golden-blonde hair. She stiffened as she felt him, like a sunbeam trying to smother itself in a blanket. The low hiss that escaped Wordsmith gave away more than she’d intended as she started to get up. “Galahad,” she spat, scowling at his countenance from across the room.

And yet, as he made his way through the crowd, they mostly ignored him, letting him pass with no qualms. Frowning, she spared a glance to the King, only to find him watching her, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Ah, so the little mouse has been worming her way into things she shouldn’t,” he said, gaze lazily following back across the crowd. “There have been whispers for a while now, so I was hoping you might be able to clear things up for me. A helpless little bird—one that you’re quite familiar with, it would seem—falls into your lap, drunk off her arse, and instead of just leaving the bird to the vultures—which would have been the humane thing to do—you decide to play nursemaid and bundle her up and take her home with you. Now, it doesn’t strike you as the slightest bit strange that she would come to you, a demon for help?” The argument on the tip of her tongue died as the words sank in. She looked away at that, unable to meet his gaze again as he shook his head. “What do you think you know about this angel anyway?”

She wanted to keep quiet, wanted deep down to tell the King to shut it and mind his own business, that in the end, it was still her mistake to make, but his words rang past that again. She’s better off with the angels… “She’s the Inquisitor… She… she just… researches things… observes…” Giving a half-shrug, she tried to brush it off. “She’s not that important… There are probably dozens of inquisitors… She gets her orders and obeys them like all the others…”

“I see… Just a little worker drone, then,” the King said, downing his drink at last as Wordsmith bit back her answering retort. “Well, that’s good, then. They would probably come to finish the job if she was important… As it is, they’ll probably let her just burn herself out.” Red eyes widened at that, staring at the King as he looked out over the crowd. “Those sigils they cut into her… It’s like cracking open a candle and lighting it in the middle and letting it burn itself from the center out. She has a month or so left at the rate she’s burning—less now, if I’m right…”

“About what?” she started to ask, looking out to find Galahad was gone. For a moment, the crowd parted and she saw a flash of red, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, the dress a brilliant shade against the sea of black. Her heart leapt into her throat—she was here. Cass was here, dragged into the middle of a room filled with demons, and Galahad had left her there.

I’m going to fucking pluck his feathers out myself, she thought to herself as her mind started to race, the fastest escape routes, how to cross the room without attracting too much attention, how to get her attention so that maybe she could just slip out herself…

“Well,” the King said, jerking her out of her thoughts as he stood, that smile crossing his lips again, “from the looks of it… someone’s fed her a bit of grace, to accelerate the effects of the sigil. If her own grace isn’t restored soon, and I do mean her grace, as not just any grace will do, she’ll just be an empty shell, no memories, no hope, and no future…” Looking to the Wordsmith, he fixed her with a look as he added, “The Inquisitor, as you know her, will cease to be.”

Straightening his jacket, he smiled again. “Now, be a good mouse and stay put. It seems someone’s had the gall to leave a broken little bird in a lion’s den.”

* * *

“Say goodbye  
As we dance with the Devil tonight  
Don’t you dare look at him in the eye  
As we dance with the Devil tonight.”

~Dance with the Devil by Breaking Benjamin

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the demon, ignoring the way her legs threatened to turn to jelly. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and now, no weapon to defend herself. The least she could do would be to go out with what little dignity she could muster. When she spotted him just a few feet away, the crowd parting easily for him, she steeled herself as best she could, taking a deep breath as her hand brushed the phone in her pocket. Should she call Wordsmith? No, if she came while he was still there, she would be in even more trouble. Where in the world was Galahad? Clenching her fists, she tried to summon him. She needed some king of back-up…

“So, tell me,” he said, slowly circling her as the ambient noise returned to the room, though it was quieter, as if all ears were straining to hear. “What brings a helpless little bundle of feathers like you to a gathering like this?” he asked, watching her closely as she tried to keep both the exit and the king in sight. “And dressed in something so… devilish?” he added, a slow grin curling over his lips as she fixed her eyes on him, anger flaring up.

“Keep back, demon!” she snapped, the tiniest drops of grace straining to summon what little strength she could manage. “My friends are-”

“Not here,” he interjected, watching the confusion cross her face as he finally stopped in front of her. Smiling, he held out his hand do her. “Fancy a dance? You seem to be all dolled up and no one to spend the night with…”

Her frown deepened at that, starting to take a step back as she shook her head. “No… I should go…”

“It was not a request,” he said icily, though his smile was firmly in place. He waited as she hesitated a few moments longer before she slowly reached out to take his hand. All at once, music seemed to wash over the room as he swept her up into a dance, her feet struggling to keep up at first as she tried to find the rhythm. She barely kept from treading on his feet more than once as the room seemed to spin with them. More than once, she nearly slipped, even managing to roll her ankle once before he caught her, letting her recover for a moment before pulling her back into the steps.

“Inquisitor, was it?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light as she tried to watch a thousand things at once. No one else was dancing, that much was clear—but why? There was music, and clearly room enough for it… “My wordsmith tells me that you fell from grace… Nasty business, that…”

“I… There was a misunderstanding,” she said, face pale as she tried to ignore the press of his hand around hers, his other hand resting on the small of her back. “I… wasn’t supposed to fall, I don’t think…”

“You don’t think?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at that. His eyes glinted in the light, making her shiver as one hand rested on the small of her back, his fingers brushing over the lowest sigil there. At first, she didn’t mind about his touch—she didn’t particularly like it, but he wasn’t tearing her apart either… Though the longer his hand rested there, the more the sigils itched, then began to burn. “You don’t think that you were meant to fall? And what is it that you were framed for?” 

Flinching, she tried to twist away, whimpering at the sudden flash of pain. “I… I don’t remember,” she gasped out, trying to move away from him. “I… I can’t remember… what they want…”

“Ah, that’s it… They really did seal you in there good,” he said, giving her another turn before letting his hand rest carefully at her side. The burning began to fade as she trembled, stumbling as she almost fell to her knees, gasping for air. “Sorry about that… Can’t have the little mouse falling apart on me over you so quickly…”

Flinching as she felt the twinge of pain, she looked up at him, heart hammering in her chest. “What… what did you do to me?”

He simply smiled, letting her stop the dance as he said, “I just disrupted their little tracker.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“Tracker?” she asked, frowning deeper as she gingerly touched the burn, hissing in pain as she yanked her hand away. “Wh-what tracker?”

“The sigil that they carved into you… Well, one of them… A lesser-known mark—I had to go to great lengths to find it. My wordsmith wasn’t all that good at covering her tracks after all, and angel-proofing is only one of the many things that they’re used for…” His eyes narrowed a little before he smiled. “Ah, yes… the cavalry has arrived, I see.”

Without another word, he snapped his fingers and was gone.

“Inquisitor!” she heard a voice bellow, almost sinking to her knees in relief. Thank heaven, she thought to herself, smiling a little as she looked up to her friend. Galahad came back…

* * *

The king was dancing. Specifically, he was dancing with the Inquisitor, and she was doing a moderately decent job keeping up. Wordsmith was torn between getting upset because she’d been told to stay put like some loyal dog, and wanting to watch the almost enthralling sight of the Inquisitor dancing. Getting up from her seat, she pushed through the crowd when they suddenly stopped, her ears perking up as Cass gasped, shaking as she struggled to keep upright. One hand clasped the King’s tightly, the other clutching at his suit jacket before she straightened up again. His hand left her lower back, leaving behind a dark red burn across another of the sigils.

Wordsmith looked up, her eyes catching the King’s as she tried to register what he did. “What… what did you do to me?” she heard her friend ask, watching as he turned his gaze back to the angel.

“I just disrupted their little tracker.” He paused, looking past the Inquisitor to where Wordsmith stood. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“Tracker?” the Angel said, reaching back to touch it. Wincing at the sight, she heard her friend hiss in a breath at her own touch, knowing she was going to need to get something on it soon for her friend…

“The sigil that they carved into you… Well, one of them… A lesser-known mark—I had to go to great lengths to find it. My wordsmith wasn’t all that good at covering her tracks after all, and angel-proofing is only one of the many things that they’re used for…” Red eyes flicked from the burn back to his face and then back again. Relief hit her hard, leaving her trembling. The King… helped? The King never helps… nothing is ever for free…

Everything has its price.

“Ah, yes… the cavalry has arrived, I see.” Her head shot up at that, watching the King suddenly disappear. 

“Inquisitor!” she heard, eyes flashing as she searched for Galahad. A moment later, the air was filled with the sound of beating wings, her heart hammering in her chest as she spotted a familiar blonde head through the crowd. Everything started to move then, the demons around lunching forward as chaos erupted around them. Wordsmith was jostled and almost run over as she tried to stand against the tide of bodies rushing forward. She struggled against them, trying to see through elbows and over heads. She caught glimpses of her friend, so close, just there, but every time she got closer, something pushed her back, avoiding blades and punches and bodies flung, angels and demons alike. 

I have to get to her, was her only thought, forcing her way through the crowd. I have to get her away from him…

Blonde hair shone as he stood over the Inquisitor, kneeling close to her. His eyes raked down over her as he spoke to her, the smaller angel answering. She was shaking like a leaf as he helped her up, his eyes scanning the crowd before he gathered her up into her arms. Looking from Cass to Galahad, she saw her friend frown, starting to push away from him as she shook her head. Gritting her teeth, Wordsmith started to push harder, shoving others out of her way, struggling to get close again. She was almost there…

“Inquisitor!” she shouted over the din of battle, watching as she was lifted off her feet, struggling to get away as she looked up. Blue eyes met red for a moment before she reached out to her friend, screaming her name. 

There was fear in that sound, that single word that rang through the room. It was a plea if she ever heard one, and she would be damned if some swaggering peacock from the heavenly host would stop her. She made it two steps closer, reaching out to take her hand.

Wordsmith stumbled as her hand closed around empty air, falling to her knees as she stared at the spot where her friend had just been. She didn’t react at first, her heart stilling in her ribcage as she froze.

The Inquisitor… Cass… had needed her… Her, Wordsmith, the demon… She’d reached out and placed all of her trust in her friend, turning away from her brethren, had cried for her help…

And she’d slipped right through her hands.

An anguished cry ripped itself from her throat as she let tears fall down her face.


	3. Chapter 3

“Galahad, that was Wordsmith!” she cried, struggling to be put down as he carried her down a brightly lit hall. For all her fighting and kicking, he ignored her, even when she tried to pry his vessel’s fingers off. “Let me go!”

“Silence, Inquisitor,” he finally said, dropping her to the floor as she flailed, struggling to get back to her feet as hands grabbed her. “Take her away… We’ll figure out what to do with her after we speak to the others…”

She struggled with all her might, successfully breaking one heel and losing the other shoe as she screeched and made as much fuss as she could manage. In the end, though, she was tossed into a jail cell and the door slammed in her face. No one came to the door when she started to scream, even when she started to beat her fists against it. Her knuckles were soon bloodied, legs and arms aching as much as her back as she tried everything to get the door to open. Trapped in a ten foot by ten foot room wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned this night going—though, if she was being honest, this is along the right lines…

Sighing, she sat on the floor, looking down at her scraped hands as she began to shake. She couldn’t give up hope—she had to get back. She had to get out. She needed to be free…

The tears started to fall as she bent forward, shoulders shaking as she knelt on the floor. She tried to force them back, to grit her teeth and be strong, don’t let them see your despair, don’t let them see you break… But in that room, alone and facing what would likely be her end at the hand of someone she’d believed so strongly was her friend, she felt her heart breaking anyway. Nothing she did could stop it, the sobs bubbling up from deep inside, no matter what she did to try to stop them. The bite of her nails into the flesh of her balms just sharpened the pain as she murmured, “She was right… I should’ve listened…”

Sleep found her there, collapsed into a crumpled heap of soft skirts and mussed hair, curling into herself as she closed her eyes. Maybe I’ll wake up from this nightmare, she thought numbly before darkness washed over her again. Or maybe I can just die in my sleep…

 

  
* * *

 

  
“No, please, don’t do this!” she begged, struggling against their hold. “This… this isn’t right! You can’t do this! Please, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Ah, Inquisitor,” a familiar voice said as a looming figure stepped into the light. Green eyes glinted down at her as her stomach dropped to the floor. “How unfortunate that we have to meet like this…”

“G-Galahad? Come on, now, this isn’t funny! Make them release me!” she said firmly, stamping her foot as her blue eyes met his.

“You heard the rulings of this tribunal, Inquisitor… You know as well as any how infallible they are,” he added with a small smile. “The evidence against you is irrefutable…”

“Evidence?” she cried, frowning at him. “What evidence?! I’ve done nothing wrong! Tell them, Galahad!”

“Oh, but I have,” he said, bowing his head. “I’ve told them all about your dealings with your demon cohort, the long hours and secretive meetings, the… questionable conduct…” His smile only grew as he stood over her. “You’ve grown quite close to the little rat… Did you think your position would make you immune to judgment like everyone else?”

Eyes fell to her as she paled, blinking up at her friend as emotions warred across her face. She struggled at first to breathe against the tightening in her chest, then fought to regain her voice. “… I told you those things in confidence,” she said softly, her heart racing in her chest. “I… I never acted on any of those things…”

“But you let yourself be swayed,” he said arrogantly, tsking her gently. “And only now that your actions will lead to real consequences, you wish to deny it?” He sighed, shaking his head at her in mock sympathy. “My dear Inquisitor… you showed such promise…” Nodding to one of the others, he said firmly, “Do it.”

There was a flurry of movement as she tried to struggle, kicking and screaming, fighting like a woman possessed. “You can’t do this!” she kept screaming, tears falling down her face as she flailed hard, silver wings beating against the hands that held her. The first creak of bone did nothing to deter her, but the following crack made the whole world still. Sounds were ripped from her throat, her true voice ringing through the air as she cried for them to stop, begging forgiveness…

Warm hands cupped her face, wiping her tears as numbness crept into her, eyes glazed in pain as her body slumped. Feathers littered the floor around her, and she could feel the bright pain of a dozen angel-blades pressed against her wings and skin. Tears clung to her lashes as she stared blankly up into green eyes, a soft murmur for mercy falling from her lips as she implored to him. “Please, Galahad… p-please…”

“The game has been fun, little bird,” he said, shaking his head. “But you just couldn’t play by the rules, could you? You couldn’t just… stick to the plan, focus on your duties…”

“Wh-what plan?” she asked, voice hoarse as she struggled to breathe through the pain. “I w-was doing my job! P-please…”

“And was it your job to be tempted by nothing more than a lowly Crossroads demon?” he hissed, holding her chin tightly in one hand. When she didn’t answer, he bellowed, “No, it wasn’t! Your job was to observe and report! You were to keep an eye out for the enemy’s movements! You were supposed to watch and listen for signs of a weapon that might’ve been loosed from the arsenal! Instead, you chose to be lured away by not just any demon, but the Wordsmith of Hell, if memory serves.”

“Wordsmith is my fr-” she started to sputter before a sharp smack to the face silenced her, sputtering blood from her split lip as she looked up at him in horror.

“A demon serves no one but themselves,” he said icily as she whimpered before him. “And they certainly don’t love…”

 

  
* * *

 

  
Wordsmith jerked upright as she managed to pull herself out of the dream, heart racing in her chest as she gasped for breath. There was something so real in that dream, she brought a trembling hand to her face just to make sure she wasn’t bleeding.

After convincing herself it was a dream, she started to get to her feet, shaking all over as she tried to remember what had happened the night before. There had been a lot of running, at least three failed attempts to summon first her friend, and then any angel she thought might answer her call, and finally, as it had neared dawn, there had been a bottle of tequila and a very comfortable corner booth at her favorite bar. She vaguely remembered hissing once to get the humans in it to vacate before crawling into the bottle and refusing to come back out…

Flinching, she started to make her way to the bar, motioning for a glass of water as the bartender eyed her carefully. After a couple glasses of water and a cup of coffee, he set down the glass he’d been pretending to clean for ten minutes. “So,” he asked gently, looking at the defeated demon, “did you get into a fight?”

Looking up at him with tired eyes, she frowned a little. Should she tell him? That because of her, she lost her friend, and how she likely just handed Heaven’s most wanted angel to them on a silver platter? That she was dealing with nightmares now about how her friend was likely being tortured?

How her friend was gone, and she didn’t even get to say good bye?

Her gaze fell to her coffee mug, holding it in hands that shook a little too much to drink it safely. Sighing softly, she gave a slight shrug at that before she murmured, “Something like that, I guess…”

“Hmm… Anything to do with that girl you peeled from the bar stool several months back?” he asked, looking her over with a critical eye. Something in her face must’ve given it away, because he nodded a little. “I see… Something get between you two?”

Bowing her head a little, she murmured, “Something like that…”

“I see… Would you like to talk about it? … Might help…”

Looking up from her mug, she debated it, considered telling him everything from beginning to end, the meeting by the lake, the body they hid together, the stolen moments, the little things—everything… Sighing, she shook her head a little, getting up from her bar stool as she turned to the door. “No… I don’t think talking about it will help this one,” she said gently, stepping out into the morning light to hail a cab back to her flat.

* * *

Constantia sighed as she slipped into the last room on the left. The last occupants of room 206 left things everywhere—clothes, pillows, curtains had been yanked back, and strange symbols had been painted on the walls, floors, and windows. She was glad it was the last room of her shift—she was pulling a double for Alissa since her little one was still out with the flu—but this was just ridiculous. Turning to the bed, she started to gather up the sheets, grabbing the pillows and wrestling them out of the pillowcases. She almost didn’t notice the small envelope that fluttered out, blinking as she bent to pick it up. Turning it over, she saw the familiar stationery of the hotel with a hastily scrawled address: a letter for a W. Smith. Frowning, she glanced around, wondering maybe what had happened in the room.

Starting to pick the room up again, she quietly tucked it into the pocket of her uniform. She would decide what to do with it after her shift…

Strangely enough, an hour later, she was clocking out and pulling up a map on her phone. It wasn’t too far, really, just a few minutes’ walk. As she approached the building, she frowned at the nameplates, searching for a name that matched. She found none, but the apartment listed had a black piece of tape over the nameplate. Chewing on her lip, she reached out to thumb the intercom button, listening to the soft buzz for a moment before the silence stretched on. She was about to turn and walk away when there came a grumbled reply, “Who is it?”

“Oh, um… I… I’m sorry, I’m looking for a… W. Smith? There was a letter left at the Rosemont Hotel, and this is the address…” she said, waiting for a few moments. After a couple of minutes, she started to turn away, sighing softly when the door opened, making her jump. Blinking, she looked at the young woman in front of her, taking in the sunglasses and tired face and the way the individual smelled heavily of alcohol.

“What letter?” she asked, scowling at Constantia. She yanked it from her hand, making her squeak a little as red eyes squinted at the writing. After a moment of scrutinizing it, she looked at the maid, nodding a little before she said, “Thank you…”

As the raven-haired woman ducked back into the building, the maid wondered if maybe she was missing something. She wasn’t really one to admit to having thought this would go a little differently, maybe like a dramatic love letter left by an eloping couple, or perhaps a confession to something, but this had been rather… anticlimactic. Frowning to herself, she shook her head, turning to walk away. She needed to stop watching those Lifetime movies.. Not everything had a much deeper meaning…

 

  
* * *

 

  
Wordsmith shook as she closed the door to her flat, leaning against the solid wood of it as she took a deep breath. The handwriting on the letter was unmistakably the angel’s… She both wanted to tear it up and pretend she hadn’t seen it, while also wanting to pour over the words. Was it a cry for help? Was it a way to get her back? She had to know… and at the same time, she dreaded finding out.

Turning back to her table, she stared down at the cup of coffee and aspirin that lay next to it. Something told her the King wouldn’t expect her in today. Popping the bitter pills into her mouth, she chased them down with a few quick gulps of coffee, looking down at the plain envelope again.

Nothing was worse than not knowing, she supposed… Picking it up, she quickly opened it, sliding the letter out as she swallowed. Unfolding it, she smoothed the page out on the table, forcing her eyes to focus on the words in front of her.

 

  
_Dear Wordsmith,_

_If you’re reading this, then I guess it means that I didn’t come back. Galahad’s taking me somewhere, and I think you were right. I shouldn’t have trusted him, and I’m sorry._

_I’m especially sorry that it means I won’t see you again, my friend. I won’t be able to learn how to cook properly, won’t ever make a terrible pot of coffee again, and I’ll probably never see the sun rise again. Most of all, though, it means I won’t be able to pay you back all the kindness you’ve shown me. I owe you a debt, and I can never pay it back now. I won’t get to return the favor if you need me…_

_I suppose that’s silly of me. I’ve grown to believe it, though—that you need me like I need you… That anyone needs me, really… This entire endeavor has only served to show me how much I need others, not the other way around. I’m odd and different and I have been watching people for aeons and I still don’t understand anything. I understand myself least of all._

_I don’t know why I’m writing this letter. I’m probably just being paranoid, and I’ll tear it up when we get back to the room… But I am scared, because the more I write this letter, the more I feel like this is it. This is my end, and I’ve just been delaying the inevitable, trying to buy myself more time with you._

_I’ve never prayed so hard to be wrong…_

_Galahad’s knocking on the door now, and I think I’ve stalled as long as I can. I’m going to go out there now, and pretend that everything is fine again._

_If this letter finds you and I cannot, then please know this: I love you, Wordsmith. I kept thinking I would stop being a coward, that I’d swallow my pride and just tell you, because I’ve known this for a while… But an angel can’t change its feathers, and if this is it, then I’d rather you know. I suppose it’s too little, too late, but for what it’s worth… these past months have been the best._

_With all that I am, Forever yours, Sincerely,_

_Please forgive me._

_Cass_

 

  
Tears streamed down the demon’s face before she brushed them away. The letter fluttered from her hand as she turned away, furiously swiping at the tears that burned down her face. “Bloody hell,” she snapped, anger fluttering in her chest. She didn’t have time for this… not for tears, not for fretting… Getting up from her chair, she dug in her pocket, quickly pressing numbers as she frowned, hands shaking. Taking a deep breath, she waited until a familiar voice answered, closing her eyes. “I need your help.”

“We’ve been over this,” the voice answered, making her scowl. “We are out of leads, and the King is dealing with the fallout from last night… Were you involved with this? No, wait, I’d rather not know…”

“I don’t have time for this,” she answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please…”

“There’s really nothing I can offer,” he said. “I’ve done all I can. You’ll have to figure this one out on your own…”

“They’ve got Cass!” she snapped, tears starting to fall again as her voice broke. “They just came and took her and I tried to stop them, and she left me this letter, and I can’t just let them take her! So please, I’m begging you! Help me… I’ll never ask for anything else… please…”

Silence met her plea, and she worried that he’d maybe hung up on her before a sigh filtered through the speaker against her ear. “You’re becoming quite troublesome, you know…”


	4. Chapter 4

“Birds sing after a storm. Why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?”   
~Rose Kennedy

“How long has she been gone?” Guthrie asked, striding down the corridor as Wordsmith followed quickly.

“U-um, like… almost twelve hours?  Maybe a bit longer?” she said, glancing at her watch as she tried to remember what time she had seen her friend last.  “Probably a little longer than that…  Not more than twenty hours, though…”

“And you’re positive they took her… upstairs?” he pressed, stepping into a side office as he started to dig through a pile of scrolls.

“That’s the only place they could take her..  I can’t…  I tried everything, she’s not responding to anything, and I  _know_  that slimy little yellow-haired vulture has everything to do with this,” she hissed, watching as he pulled out a particular scroll, glancing over it before pulling it out, along with two others.  She looked up into his face, trying not to frown as she harbored just the slightest bit of hope.  “So… Do you have any ideas?”

“I have a couple, “ he said, looking at another scroll before looking at her, frowning.  “You look terrible…  Did you fall asleep on a park bench or something?”

Rolling her tired eyes at that, she sighed, shaking her head.  “No… Just… kind of crawled into the bottle…”

“I see…  The powers that be grab your girlfriend and your first reaction is to do shots…” he said, shaking his head a little. “Not that I’m one to judge, but did that really help?”

“No,” Wordsmith said with a weary sigh, blinking before she shook her head. “And she’s… not my girlfriend…”

“Well, that much is on you—she’s been staying at your flat for how long now?”  Red eyes narrowed at him as he shook his head.  “For now, I need to make a few calls…  You head home and make sure everything is ready—who knows what shape she might be in when we pull her out of that vipers’ nest…”

Sensing she was dismissed, she nodded, clicking her fingers and appearing back in her own living room.  Glancing around, she frowned, starting to check the sigils and reapply any that had faded, making sure she had blankets, bandages, and after a few moments of checking the room, got up to set the kettle to warm.  If she knew Cass, the first thing she would want would be a cup of tea, a quiet room, and some gentle music to rest to.  Sitting down in a chair in the kitchen, she waited by the phone, frowning to herself.  No matter what, she decided, she would be ready when the time came to welcome her home and shelter her once more.

Home.

That was a strange concept, even now.  This place had been an empty hole before, just somewhere to  _be_  when she wasn’t working.  Once the angel had taken to roosting, though, it had… changed.  Flowers in vases, breakfast (or some semblance of it) in bed, shared meals and moments…  It was strange to be back there without the angel flittering around or perching in a chair as she read one of her books or half-sprawled on the floor with pillows and blankets.  It was strange to think about the time before, when they would just meet in passing, and then later, more often and with less glaring.  

When had she stopped drawing her weapon on Wordsmith?  When had she stopped frowning so much and smiling more?  When did the Inquisitor stop being so serious?

When did she stop being the Inquisitor and start just… being Cass?

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Inquisitor woke with a start, eyes adjusting to the bright light that flooded the room.  The light burned her eyes as she struggled to sit up, her arms trembling as she pushed herself off the floor.  Images from the dream flickered through her head as she tried to wake herself up.   _A memory…  From before?_ Flinching, she pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to take a deep breath to slow her racing heart.   _Galahad… he just…_   

Her heart sank as she remembered the night before:  a dance with the King, left behind for the demons; Galahad’s seeming miraculous appearance, and then his sudden change when she told him she needed to call Wordsmith, just to make sure she was okay…  And then being lifted, carried away, even as she tried to push him away, and reaching for Wordsmith, so close, she was almost safe again…

She was in Heaven again.  Part of her wanted to rejoice, that she’d gotten back to Heaven, but she was still not whole, and she felt herself slipping again, even as she concentrated as hard as she could.  Shaking her head again, she looked around her cell, taking in the bare walls and lack of furniture.  Clearly, they didn’t want to give her anything she might use to fight them…  “Have to get out,” she murmured, frowning deeper as she shifted, checking herself for wounds.  Her knuckles were still bloody and a bit stiff, but she could still move her fingers.  Her muscles protested her movements, but she persisted, stretching through the pain.  She didn’t have time to curl into a ball—she needed to get out, get her grace, and get back to Wordsmith…

Assuming Wordsmith would still be there…  Shaking her head hard, she pushed the thought aside.  Worry about first things first…  Getting out of this cell was first on the list…

Looking down at herself, she eyed her single useless shoe, reaching down to open the clasp, tossing it away before looking at her layered skirt. After a moment of hesitation, she reached into a middle layer, finding a seam and yanking hard.  After a few tugs, the layer ripped free, leaving her with a long strip of sheer cloth.  She kept pulling until the entire layer came free, starting to twist and gather it into her hand.  It wasn’t a blade, by any means, but with the looped ends knotted together, she had a serviceable length that she could use to defend herself if she needed to.  

Nodding, she carefully gathered it into her hand,letting a layer loop over her fingers, smiling a little to herself.  If she played her cards right… she might just…

She heard a key turning in the lock, the only warning she was going to get.  Sniffling, she was quickly able to work herself into a crying fit, tears streaming down her face as she shrank back from the two figures that stepped into the room.  She counted the heartbeats before she moved, twisting herself hard to sweep one foot under one of them, sending him sprawling onto his back.  The other angel was a little harder, even as she grabbed for the first angel’s blade, almost getting slashed in the process.  Yanking the handle out of his grip, she held it in front of herself, getting to her feet as she stared at the angels.  She didn’t recognize either of them, frowning at their faces as she tried to judge whether she’d be able to get past them and through the door before they could catch her…

“Calm down, Inquisitor,” one of them said, drawing her attention.  His eyes were a strange color, almost amber as he held his hands up to her.  “We’re here to talk…”

“I’m done talking,” she said, frowning at him.  “Brethren or not, if you don’t move, I  _will_  end you…”  She was almost surprised to find that she was serious, fixing him with a dark look.  “I’ve been framed, and I  _refuse_  to sit idly by while that  _bastard_  has me branded for a traitor!”

“Inquisitor please…” the other said, starting to get up as she pointed the blade at him instead.  “We aren’t here to stop you…  We’re here to help you…”


End file.
